Admonish You For Worrying
by Dear Aunt Elladora
Summary: Ginny Weasley waits.


the remnant freeze of his icy hand across your cheek before the battle, the look in his chyrstaline eyes before he left. you know he's dead - it's this sick, molten feeling overcoming your stomach. you try to keep your meager lunch down - you've already vomited six times in the last days; all the blood and gore and mere boys lain dead makes you weak.  
  
and you stand on the porch of the musky air, hung heavy with the most awkward silence you've ever heard. this battle is over, the boys in hospitals, a temporary respite 'til they crawl back to fight. there's no wind and the air is full of pressure and heat - the air is too thick for you to swallow.  
  
it's eleven thirty in the evening and you've been standing on this porch waiting on him to come since eleven this morning and he's still not here. you slowly ebb through the door, knowing he's coming up the steps to relieve your aching throat, to tell you it's not safe to stand out for so long, to admonish you for worrying. but no creak comes from the sagging steps.  
  
without eating, you continue your pace back to the bedroom. you softly pull your sweaty mass of scarlet hair from it's pins on the back of your head and slip off your shoes. you curl yourself into a ball and wait with your eyes wide -- waiting for him to come in, cover you up, admonish you for worrying and lay down in the vacant edge of the bed.  
  
hours pass as you lay with your eyes open. night forms darker and darker until this suddenly light seems to come and you can't believe it's day already. it doesn't feel like you've been awake all night, but you crawl out of the incredibly cold bed.  
  
but it's okay, for you know when you cross the corner into the kitchen he'll be there, eating toast, reading the 'profit' -- and he'll tell you that you shan't have worried. but your quiet toes scuff the floor and round the corner to find a vacant kitchen. without bothering to look at the clock, you walk slowly to the front door and step out into a sunrise.  
  
but even the sun looks bleak - the sky looks tired. a wash of gray and the ugliest shade of purple you've even seen clash together. you walk to the front of the porch and stand with your head against a column and you know he's coming.  
  
then a figure edges across the horizon and you know it's him, coming home, telling you not to worry. but it's not -- you know all his curves and this figure is tall and gangly with fire red hair. but you figure your eyes are playing tricks on you - it's really him, five inches shorter, blonde hair.  
  
'ginny.' ron says once he reaches you on the porch and you can't bear to look at him. why isn't the other back? you haven't spoken in so long you feel like you could never say another word -- and the sudden ache in your throat of tears doesn't help.  
  
you turn to face your brother and he talks.  
  
'we won,' he says with no smile, 'but ... but so many -- they're ... so many are gone ginny.'  
  
you look at him with an expressionless face and he contines.  
  
'justin - that hufflepuff. amelia bones, hannah abbott, c-c-' and here he chokes, and you notice the tears racing down his face, 'colin. jacob huntley - a year older than us, and so many more ... ' and his voice fades -- his shoulders shake with silent tears.  
  
you choke but you don't cry, extending a hand to your brother's shoulder. you feel numb all over and again, you wait for him.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - -  
  
ron had brought a paper and you slowly unrolled it. there were names -- a death toll that seemed to last longer than it should. you began to read but didn't show any indifference. they couldn't be dead -- it wasn't humanly possible.  
  
and then you saw it, those two words next in that wretched list on that wretched paper. you stood up from the table and fled to the bathroom - vomiting. your head spun and you knew you were imaging things - his name was there but they were liars, all the rest of them. you knew he was going to walk in the bathroom and lift your hair back from your face.  
  
a wet towel mopped up the mess and once again you returned to the porch to wait on him -- to here him say that you shouldn't have worried.  
  
----------------------------  
  
you didn't go to his funeral -- they wouldn't have let you in. you heard it was packed with people who sobbed over his coffin and you know that he would have hated it. just like he hated to see you cry.  
  
so you didn't cry, for a long time. until you met with dennis for coffee and you told dennis about him -- about how you fell in love, about how you waited, about how you feared you were pregnant with his son.  
  
and dennis's face held the oddest expression and told you not to make jokes about dead men -- especially draco malfoy.  
  
the air freezes and your tears bubble, you sob and sob and sob. dennis gets frightened, tells you he'll owl, and bustles out. but your tears don't cease - it's not really a tidal wave sob but more a tsunami type as you eyes swell and your head spins.  
  
later you know you'll vomit again, but for now you cry and know you'll keep waiting. 


End file.
